


The Moon Is A Lie

by BlueEyedArcher



Series: The Legend of Bat Reid! [3]
Category: Vampyr (Video Game)
Genre: Animal Transformation, Bats, Crack, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Public Nudity, There's A Bad Moon Rising, Wait no it's just Jonathan's pasty white ass
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-09
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:00:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24084760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueEyedArcher/pseuds/BlueEyedArcher
Summary: A series of unfortunate events leads to one wild misunderstanding with Jonathan at the heart of it all.
Relationships: Geoffrey McCullum & Jonathan Reid, Geoffrey McCullum/Jonathan Reid
Series: The Legend of Bat Reid! [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1736608
Kudos: 54





	The Moon Is A Lie

**Author's Note:**

> This idea came from a joke conversation we had about Jonathan's pasty white ass because he's a vampire and England never sees sunlight anyway. Poor boy can't catch a break.

It was another gloomy London night which coincidentally, meant it was perfect for making his usual rounds. Jonathan was eager to stretch his legs after spending the last two days cooped up in the hospital hunched over his desk filling out paperwork. Much of it he had been putting off for the past week and a half, but with Edgar’s constant reminders, and impromptu entrances into Jonathan’s office when the doctor was trying to get dressed for the evening, or organize the pile of research he had scattered across his table, the continuous interruptions were getting on his nerves. So, with a heavy sigh, he wielded his pen of choice, which also just so happened to be his favorite one by the numerous bite marks he left behind in the aluminum capsule from stress chewing with his fangs. It was a wonder it hadn’t burst or broke on him from the abuse he had put it through.

After turning the last pile of paperwork into Swansea’s office and gleefully dropping it onto the Administrator’s desk while he was absent for the moment, the ekon quickly rushed for the balcony while shrugging on his jacket and leapt across the bridge in a few short snaps of shadows. He needed to leave before one of the other staff managed to ensnare him on the way out.

He started heading for Whitechapel when he got turned around by a juicy piece of gossip, one sewer beast and a kind request from one of his elderly patients to deliver a letter to a family member over by the docks. Reid happily obliged and continued on his quest, taking his sweet time as he stopped in to check on Mrs. Fishburn and young Rufus after the delivery.

Despite his delight in the momentary freedom, he couldn’t help but feel a sudden nagging concern that he was missing something. It itched at the back of his mind and made him anxious the more he dug at the feeling, yet nothing appeared to surface as an answer. He dismissed it as more cabin fever troubles and maybe just a missed signature on a document that Swansea will undoubtedly catch and return to him to correct. He continued his rounds, stopping long enough to speak with Edwina and Booth as they chattered on about one problem or another. Jonathan was just walking away after the unsavory topic their conversation turned to, when he caught Booth cursing. 

“Saw some of those Priwen fuckers wandering around again. That one with a bow was looking at me funny.” He growled, one brow raised in a skewed fashion as his conspiratorial tone slipped into his voice. 

“What good is a bow when you could have a gun?” Edwina hissed. “The idiot won’t last long against our boys. I’ll make sure of that.” Booth laughed, a dry sound high in his throat as Jonathan rolled his eyes and continued. Only to stop suddenly as the nagging feeling surged to the forefront of his thoughts.

Jonathan’s eyes widened at the startling realization. _Oh no! Geoffrey!_ He had made a promise to meet the hunter at Pembroke for one of their usual rendezvous. He pulled his watch from his pocket, eyes searching the face for the time. “I’m late!” He cursed his own forgetfulness.

It was only by a few minutes now but he estimated if he ran back, he would miss him. Even with the aid of his shadows guiding him and if he kept to the rooftops, it would still be too long, not to mention exhausting. He briskly rounded the corner of the alley and darted towards the broken balcony ledge overlooking the Turquoise Turtle. He slipped inside with little trouble, entering one of his more frequently used hideouts in the city. He often kept spare supplies and clothes tucked into the trunk incase of mishaps while on his usual rounds, and more recently, his need to transform.

He quickly undressed and folded his belongings away until nothing remained. The ghost of a breeze tickled over his skin, a sensation he still hadn’t yet grown accustomed to in this form but when he changed, it was an exhilarating experience. It made the embarrassment of his change worth the momentary discomfort. If he treated it from a medical or scientific perspective, it left him less flustered.

He had grown more fond of the scantily boarded up hideouts for all the little nooks and crannies his tiny form could slip into and through, making his entry and exits easier in the long run. Satisfied and hoping the weather would be kind to his wings, he summoned the shadows to wrap around his body. His arms flexed with the pleasant pop and pull as muscles tensed and unraveled into wings. The rest of his body quickly followed suit, in a snap of dark vapor, he was free to flap and flutter to his heart’s content.

When it first happened, it hurt, needless to say but he assumed that was due to being attacked, bitten and then nearly suffocated and crushed by his own clothes and weapons. He was disoriented and the whole world felt far too big and confusing. His limbs were clumsy and his hands (wings) felt cumbersome and disjointed. Every movement was a gamble. Flying was its own terrifying adventure as he practiced in the safety of his office, clambering up shelves and bookcases, swooping and landing gracelessly onto his bed or the floor with tiny thuds and squeaks.

At one point, he fell so hard it knocked him out and he woke up in his human form with Swansea standing over him with a look of concern. The administrator had the decency to pull the blanket off his bed and cover him up for a modicum of modesty. Apparently, the fall had been a lot louder than Jonathan anticipated and had startled one of the nurses. Given the fact his office door had been locked, and he wasn’t answering their immediate inquiries, they turned to Swansea to check on the doctor.

Jonathan gave a brief heavily censored explanation that he had been testing one of his ekon abilities and the exhaustion of the activity made him pass out. The reason for his lack of clothing was easily dismissed by the admission that he wanted to be able to see what it did to his body in the process and his clothing was getting in the way of his experiment. Swansea appeared to be satisfied for the time being with the explanation and passed on his safety to the rest of the staff.

To the ekon’s great relief, the weather was fair along the Thames which allowed him a swift flight from the docks all the way to his office. It took roughly ten minutes, give or take a minute to reach the balcony overlooking the bridge. The doctor hovered in puzzlement by the door when he swore he had left it open. He dismissed it as a slight oversight on his part and maybe in his rush, he had slipped it shut on the way out. His ekon senses secured the fact that Geoffrey was waiting inside his office. More specifically he appeared to be snooping through his desk. The ekon rolled his eyes inwardly and dismissed the shadows as he slipped out of his second form.

His pale skin caught the dim light through the slats of the boarded windows, the faint orange fluctuating the shadows as he pushed the door open. He heard the sound of footsteps outside on the cobblestones but part of him dismissed it as Swansea returning from his earlier errands.

  
  


Unbeknownst to the doctor, it was not in fact Swansea who had come down the street. Rakesh had been away from his tent long enough to get a bite to eat and was just returning from a leisurely stroll around the block to work off his meal when he spotted an odd sight. What he thought was the moon in the corner of his eye making it’s rare appearance over the gloomy little city, was actually in fact the very pasty white appearance of their head surgeon who was perched on his balcony. Rakesh snickered, assuming the doctor had stopped to relieve himself off the edge of his balcony. It wouldn’t be the most farfetched thing he’s witnessed, given the sort of unsavory, humorous or even unsanitary choices of many of the soldiers. As a fellow survivor of such a plight, he commended the doctor for his personal and private freedom.

He stifled the laughter that bubbled in his chest as he continued on his way.

At the same time, Dr. Edgar Swansea had just returned from his errands, a briefcase tucked under his arms as he rounded the corner. He spotted Dr. Chadana and made to wave at the man when he noticed his amusement. He followed the direction of his gaze towards Jonathan’s balcony. He frowned in confusion, wondering why the door was open when none other than Geoffrey McCullum stepped out with a critical eye cast over the street. His shirt was unbuttoned down the front, the scarf and jacket he normally wore was now absent as was his belt, leaving the smallest glimpse of fuzz at the base of his belly leading into the open front of his trousers. McCullum smirked when his eyes met Swansea’s before promptly flipping the administrator off with a shit eating grin then stepping back inside to shut the door behind himself.


End file.
